“sir,” i called to him again.
“yes?”
he finally turned.
“there’s someone lying in the alley.”
“really?” he said indifferently and sat up. on television, both teams were about to play another round of a highpoints game that could turn the tide.
“he could die,” i said, fiddling with one of the chewy caramel packs neatly lined up on the display stand.
“is that so?”
“yes, I’m sure.”
that was when he finally looked me in the eye.
“where’d you learn to say such creepy things? lying is bad, son.”
I fell silent for a while, trying to find the words to convince him. but I was too young to have much vocabulary, and I couldn’t think of anything else truer than what I had already said.
“he could die soon.”
all I could do was repeat myself.
<...>
i waited for the show to finish while the shopkeeper called the police. when he saw me fiddling with the caramel again, he snapped at me to leave if I wasn’t going to buy anything. the police took their time coming to the scene — but all I could think of was the boy lying on the cold ground. he was already dead.
the thing is, he was the shopkeeper’s son.
TaKe ThAt BaCk LeOrIo
i thought of books by goethe and shakespeare, whose characters often resorted to death in their desperate search for love. i thought of the people i saw on the news who were obsessed with and even abusive to their loved ones because they thought they weren’t loved anymore. i also thought of the stories of people who forgave the unforgivable after hearing just three words: “i love you.”
from what i understood, love was an extreme idea. a word that seemed to force something undefinable into the prison of letters. but the word was used so easily, so often. people spoke of love so casually, just to mean the slightest pleasure or thanks.